CHAPTER 26 - Moving On and Goodbye

Love, Loss, Loneliness and Longing, part 10, the final part

* Moving On and Goodbye

Monami ‘Fishsketcher’ Roy’s pieces of so-called “advice” (Una’s thoughts, not mine) and her “Ramlila-like” voice were put to a close. I had perceived Monami to be one of the more mature-headed ones, but she wasn’t. Whatever opinion she might have had, could have been counted upon by us; well, if she wouldn’t get me (because that would amount to giving me a call and speaking with me about what Una was thinking about Savitha’s ranting or about the whole thing that has gone astray), but certainly, Una could do that herself considering her proximity to Monami and Savitha for that matter. Ultimately, that never happened, or at least I had no way of knowing what really happened/transpired, if at all it did, between Una, Monami and Savitha, and even Padmashree.

Did Monami and Una talk about our failed romance? Perhaps they did; perhaps Monami never bothered for Una to come out or vice versa. Still, to me, Monami never came across as a person who wouldn’t bother or care less if she saw some wrong was being committed or something was not right or not natural. But where was she and what was she doing when Savitha was rapidly filling up Una’s head (and twisting her arm even) with all kinds of scheming, conniving rubbish that only she could do? Was she willingly taking part in Savitha’s chugalkhori? Ha ha ha! (Don't laugh!). So let me pose this inquiry: What kind of credible importance does it confer on to their remarkable heritage of chaar-sahelian-chaar-pahelian friendship? Or there never was such a friendship? Let me guess, it sure takes the wind out of their boat’s sails.

Monami Roy withdrew completely and snatched herself away to the US and never looked back since. Call Savitha Tandavi a US fanatic, Monami too succumbed to the infectious I-am-going-to-America-baby! phantasma that Savitha had lived and breathed all her adult life! For these peculiar girls do relationships matter a lot less than the quality of life to partake of in an alien land, never mind whether it is the US, Australia, or the Lu Lu land? "Relationships" and seeking "quality of life" abroad are entirely two different aspects?

OK, Tata, Bye Bye!

In the meantime, Savitha Tandavi drooled on nonstop. There was no stopping it. This crude hourglass silhouette kept nipping away and tucking away and tweaking away at her well-preserved, properly dried, salted, and pickled feathery mane of American dreams so that she’d be able to discard her desi life in a jiffy like old rags and fly away to…er…oblivion! She was never missed again.

Manpreet Singh continues to foster his life good-humouredly and prudently. He keeps Life’s all trump-cards well within his reach; that is in most parts interesting and in other parts intriguing. His sense of humour as always is well-endowed and proper. As for me, I moved on to someplace else; I had to. Manpreet and I kept in touch perfectly fine. We call each other off and on to share our individual life’s feats and triumphs. Later when I returned back, we invited ourselves to some “jimmings” (his pun cum pet language for buffet/smorgasbord meals) and went to see big-ticket movies at an expensive multiplex.

Thankfully enough, Padmashree’s kindly assertions and well-endowed reasoning had worked well like a balm. She said, “we don’t love to be loved; we love to love.” Being extremely grateful to Padmashree’s agile sense of things was something of a saving grace for this brooding, agonizing Devdas to recover from the accident of love. And to be innately thankful to her was my duty. Shortly afterward when I was salvaged from going completely wrecked: I was brought back to life, and slowly as I began to regain some sense of proportion the grave dark smudges that had settled around my eyes began to fade away, Padmashree’s was not there anymore. She couldn’t announce her goodbye as she preferred without anything formally uttered.

The world has become a little more precarious place to live in. Everything has changed here. Even this city where I live has changed (almost) beyond recognition; so many people (we are approaching a world of 7 billion people!), so many cars, bikes, rickshaws and so much air, land, water pollution, and rampant heritage destruction. Old giving way to new and how! The city is dotted with precarious flyovers that obstruct your way than ease your daily commuting problems. Traffic is permanently haywire. Flyovers have already become redundant. They don’t ease traffic anymore. We all are leading a life in the fast lane now with access to all kinds of moral-degrading, conscience-killer electronic junk. I am aghast at the way the world has moved on or moving on unmindfully of so many problems it faces. Aghast because no one stops to find a remedy to the problems, but carry on regardless. I am not complaining because I too am part of the same mad mad world; an eager-beaver descendant of Adam & Eve's family heirloom, who was, let's face it, famously kicked out from the Garden of Eden!!! The point is why do we have to live the way we live? No, not like Adam and Eve back again perhaps! But can we change for the real better? Is it a valid query to be asked? Or have I gone bonkers and hopelessly sentimental? Maybe; but I better give this argument a quick burial. Nonetheless, I had becalmed myself with knowing that it doesn’t matter whether my heart is still beating its beats for Una or not. She too had moved on and why wouldn’t she. No point wallowing in self-pity. 

Goodbye, My Dear

The Hallmark cards and email printouts were strewn around my cupboard, even Monami’s masterpiece: The Fish Sketch (of Fishy Poetic Business!), were shoved away. I had carefully preserved them for many years but did not dare to look at them again until many years later in 2006/07 when I had somehow persuaded my defeatist mind to see all the physical memories gone. I read and re-read all the cards and email printouts before clutching them in my trembling hands and surrendering them to the flames. I was greatly unwilling to do such a thing, but one day I really had to come to such a pass. That night in the backyard, in the veranda, I stood and cried staring at the querulous flames engulfing the stacks of my much-loved letters and souvenirs. I hid them, stored them for many years and now they are gone except three things: the old silver Parker, the maroon woollen sweater, and the tiny brown teddy bear, which she gave me after we’ve exchanged the ‘three magic words’, nothing remains. For the life of me, I couldn't toss them into the flames. With the fires finally burning out I sat and wept inconsolably hoping for an absolution that I know will never come. Months passed away to become years and memories became immortal. Memories never go away; I have them safe in my heart. Goodbye, my dear...

Moving on to seek a fresh lease of life seemed a calming possibility, an escape route for the battered soul. A safer suggestion to pay heed to. But, yeah, that was something my heart never could approve of, initially. I never ‘moved on’ until the passing of many agonizingly sodden years when I finally did ‘move on’ to start afresh. Only after a lot of time and space and wallowing in self-pity did my heart relent to a new usher of life. Everybody moved on; one had to, and perhaps one way or the other Life finds a way...

I, Arinvan Maliek, would like to hereby affirm that I have survived the failed drool of love, and thanks to my family and friends I have been able to move on, finally.

Epilogue: I have some things to say, Una, if you have time and space in your heart then give me a look I will understand.

END OF PART 10 OF ‘LOVE, LOSS, LONELINESS AND LONGING, part 10, the final part’ 

(To be continued...)

By Arindam Moulick

*Note: The above story Chapter 26 – Moving On and Goodbye is reproduced here verbatim from the original story titled "The Memory of Love, a short story" (web link: http://arindammoulick.blogspot.in/2011/07/memory-of-love-short-story.html) published here in my blog Pebbles On The Beach. "The Memory of Love, a short story" was written in the year 2011 with different character names (but same storyline) is finding its way here as part of the chapter-wise presentation of my memoir "Lost Days of Glory, a Memoir". I have merely changed the character names of the original story with new names and additionally made some small changes (basically some words/sentences are put in a different way) in the overall narrative to suit the present storyline titled under “Chapter 26 – Moving On and Goodbye”. This is for the reader’s information only.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. All incidences, places, and characters portrayed in the story are fictional and entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

CHAPTER 25 - What Is Love?

Love, Loss, Loneliness and Longing, part 9

* What Is Love?

Shakespeare said “Love is not time’s fool”, Virgil exclaimed “Love conquers all”, The Beatles suggested, “All you need is Love”. According to Saint Augustine, God is the only one who can truly and fully love you, because love with a human lets in flaws such as jealousy, suspicion, fear, anger, and contention. Euripides declared “He is not a lover who does not 'love' forever.” Take your pick. Sure all of that is so damn true. Isn't it?

Whatever Love is; I felt like I was breaking inside. I was blown into pieces, breaking down. I could not hold on to the stark truth that Una is no longer there. Oftentimes, I had thought of going away to someplace else than here to see if I can come back and make amends with her. What was I thinking? I could do no such thing; for it wasn’t entirely up to me to do so. Neither did she I believe was able to come round. Una wasn’t interested to come to see me; after all that Savitha did to her, she could not make time to even think about our failed relationship rationally or realistically. No chance of that happening. It never happened. So many years have withered away ever since I lost my one saving love. I will go back to the days I spent with her, but I know I can do that just in my memories now.

The desire to fall in love again is dead. Or have I lost my mind completely? If not, then how do I get a handle on such suicidal ideation? It’s better to rot in hell than fall in love again. It’s hard to keep on going this way; with no hope of an absolution even. Memories keep on replaying endlessly in my mind. How many times of some “Therapy” would get me out of this morose situation? Much thanks to you God for not replying!

The course of true love never runs smoothly; if I had truly loved her, I should set her free - such oft-repeated banalities have however become a soul-food for me to survive on. I missed her so greatly that often I ran up to the terrace of my building and cried my heart out. After being abandoned in love what could you possibly do? Except, of course, pontificate? On what? What had remained for me? And hold it all out on the monstrosity of the seemingly merciless world you have to inhabit it! Or do I indulge in some meandering psycho-babble for my attendant friend who had come to stand by me to console me? And who, not knowing whether to make head or tail of it, acknowledges your rush of emotions as “a kind cruelty of the surgeon’s knife!”

Yet I want to know what love is.

"I want to know what love is, I want you to show me 

I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me” 

– Foreigner

To be a man strong enough to see this thing through was very hard for my hurt soul to endure – which was already hard done by her. Whenever my imagination had a free run, I took her into my arms and never let go. Now, my thoughts reflect the loving hopes of my heart and whenever they wander they always take me to her. There was nothing more worthwhile in my life than purely love her. I realized that she is on my mind more often than any other thought; from the time I wake up till I close my eyes. Many a time, in the dazed afternoons, I have heard songs of melancholy that brought back the unforgettable memories of the past. A sigh or two somehow managed to escape out of my world-wearied soul even as my eyes betrayed tears of passion.

It is only now that I have learned what Sir Elton John always knew: that “And it’s no sacrifice” because it is “just a simple word” and “it's two hearts living in two separate worlds”. Can’t help feeling wasted away without the one and only love I had sacrificed…

END OF PART 9 OF ‘LOVE, LOSS, LONELINESS AND LONGING, part 9’

(To be continued...)

By Arindam Moulick

* Note: The above story Chapter 25 – What Is Love? is reproduced here verbatim from the original story titled "The Memory of Love, a short story" (web link: http://arindammoulick.blogspot.in/2011/07/memory-of-love-short-story.html) published here in my blog Pebbles On The Beach. "The Memory of Love, a short story" was written in the year 2011 with different character names (but same storyline) is finding its way here as part of the chapter-wise presentation of my memoir "Lost Days of Glory, a Memoir". I have merely changed the character names of the original story with new names and additionally made some small changes (basically some words/sentences are put in a different way) in the overall narrative to suit the present storyline titled under “Chapter 25 – What Is Love?” This is for the reader’s information only.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. All incidences, places, and characters portrayed in the story are fictional and entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

CHAPTER 24 - My Broken Love

Love, Loss, Loneliness and Longing, part 8

*My Broken Love

Much later, when our vastly-complimented (and derided even) affair of love and longing began inviting envious stares and glares from the jealous people such as Savitha, everything about us suddenly began their downward spiral; we let our love affected by what people like Savitha thought was a mistake; it felt abandoned as if falling on the wayside – yes, all thanks to the misgivings, misjudgments, and back-stabbers, and my unintentional glowering at some despicable people of miserable gumption. 

It was tough fighting to keep the world of the antagonistic crowd like Savitha Tandavi at bay. Open indignation and insufferable crudeness on the part of our own friends had become noxious for us to bear. Monami Roy chucked out too. My sudden and frequent lapses from my friends' lives had led them to believe that as if I have been transformed into a sort of organism of deceit and self-flagellation to boot; that I have no other concern, with the exception of chanting Una, Una, and Una all the time. That’s true but it was my business, not theirs! What a world we live in! Hah! Thankfully, Padmashri had unwittingly become a person with whom I had my emotional bereavement shared for some measure.

The unforgiving realm of remembrances and memories began to tug at my shattered heart after we broke up. The truth is we never did really 'broke up' per se; we simply did not pursue each other anymore. We let Savitha do the honours of breaking our relationship. Neither of us could 'unbreak' his/her heart to make amends. My relationship with Una - my ‘special someone’ - had ended abruptly. Needless to say, Savithas of the world were up and about throwing kitty parties to celebrate the end of my relationship with Una and visiting General Bazaar to buy a crazy salwar kameez or gobble down 10 beastly gupchups on the street leading to the raving, ranting Bazaar. Yes, it’s no doubt true. What uses a war of words with a loveless fawn-like Savitha would be? Nothing! But it really breaks one’s heart to even think of such a thing when one becomes face to face with a grief that is no less than a personal tragedy in itself. Satanic elements like Savitha shouldn’t have been a problem to deal with had I been a little more forthright. Alas, I was not one of those Hotheaded Stallions who’d let others harm you but not harm them in return. Some kind of person was I. My little love story was fed to the unkind ferocity of misunderstandings and false impressions that leaped up, with fangs bared, devouring our relationship wholly and completely – all thanks to the Resident Evil who shredded it at the first opportunity she got.

For one last time when I wrote to her, unloading all my heart’s content on to the spreadsheet of my Hotmail, I found myself reasoning with her that if I had to take umbrage at anybody in the world for our love to have resulted to this end then it would be me, just me and my forsaken fate, and no one else but me.

I have no doubt that I may have sounded a little duplicitous then taking all the blame there was to be taken of our failed, ruined affair. But the truth was I had no way of telling her what I had actually gone through after all that had happened between us, but to shut my mouth and get lost was a better escape route. I had come round to concede that the onus was on me and not her; it was I who could not judge any potential damage slithering into our relationship slowly and ever so slowly like a fork-tongued serpent called Savitha Tandavi; until it couldn’t hold and gave way to falling apart. I got no reply from Una ever again; not even to the last email I had written to her with tears that my eyes could barely hold sitting in front of my office computer typing, typing slowly. 

This was also one of the reasons I could never forget our cubicle, our beloved roaming division, on the 5th-floor office of the Tesser Towers.

All throughout the last parts of the last millennium, particularly the romantic year of 1998 so to speak, I had been yearning, more like a loser, for those glorious days that I had spent at Satyam to come back just for one last time; yet I know they never at any point will. God bless Una… I knew there could nothing be amiss about Una choosing not to reply because stating the obvious was not her flair, never was; our relationship has obviously ended, and what was I thinking.

One last strand of memory: Rarely but when I have to go towards the SD Road or towards the now-defunct Sangeet cinema, my heart remembers to tug at my chest and unfailingly craves to have just one last look at the much-familiar long staircase leading up to her 2nd-floor office at O. Plaza. So many times have I been there to her office climbing up the flight of stairs to meet her, hold her hands and look into her eyes. So very often have we stood on the marble steps and talked for long periods of time before I had to drive away burning rubber and breaking all speed limits on the way to my office on Raj Bhavan Road. And those gorgeous eyes that looked down at me from her position of one flight of step up. I can still remember very vividly: holding her hands in mine, tickling her chin, feeling each passing moment as if sent from heaven, amidst the fragrance of our love, and not wanting to leave her there and go away... I never went there ever again. Those memories will never be forgotten even if I want to.

[The good old single-screen, 35 rupees' balcony, Sangeet theatre has been razed to the ground; it is no longer there! (That's reasoning enough for me to continue hating expensive multiplexes.) The last time I had been to Sangeet to see a film was probably in the year 2005. Back during the college days, I and my friend Strong Selvajar once saw two movies there back to back. The first one was Sleeping with the Enemy and the next one was Pacific Heights. We both liked the former better, although the latter was a good movie too. (That was only and the last time I ever saw two movies one after the other in a cinema theatre!) Many memories are associated with this much-loved theatre on SD Road. Sunel Goan-Kalay, Sateesh Eloor (both close buddies), Strong Selvajar, and Arinvan Maliek – all four of us used to go to Sangeet to see movies. I remember it used to feel so special and a warming experience altogether to visit it with friends and college buddies and see English movies there, often with a bottle of Coke or Thums Up in hand, and munching on chutney sandwiches, sometimes on egg puffs or onion samosas bought at the stalls - just too good to be true. Those days will never come back again. I still can’t believe why do they have to demolish such a historic landmark and build a stupid multiplex there? A clear case of greed I suppose.

After almost a year, I had called Padmashree Raoh once in the month of July 1999 and shed copious tears. I remember the exact month because the Hindi movie Mann was released that month. I saw the film and thought the story was mostly similar to my own doomed love story, except of course Manisha Koirala losing her legs in the movie (that was really preposterous if you ask me). Padmashree had persevered to say: “nazar lag gayi…Arinvan” of my relationship with Una. So true. Her understanding of my puppy-love confusion and her perseverance and thoughtful reasoning was right on dot.

I, a late-bloomer of sorts, always been, had been told that in the quest of my passion for Una Artoran, I forgot to be “rational” and “properly sensible” and a little “radical in approach”. While one can make out words like “rational” and “sensible”, but “radical”? I still have no clue on that one. All that I read in books and saw on TV and experienced it myself is that love knows no bounds, no religion, no caste or creed, and even no purport of words from the dictionary of Human language is required to define what Love is. What is required or one hopes for while in love, is simple, just, and pure unconditional god-like love - the meaning of love which is propounded by the Gods and Goddesses themselves for the human hearts to take an everlasting shade under. Yeah, right! (See I grew up, guys!).

Richard Marx has been “right here waiting” for his love to come back and so have I replaying the song - “where ever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you…” – over and over. Is there an iota of truth in waiting for someone whom you once loved to come back? Let's say it is true. Hope floats.

END OF PART 8 OF ‘LOVE, LOSS, LONELINESS AND LONGING, part 8’

(To be continued...)

By Arindam Moulick

*Note: The above story Chapter 24 – My Broken Love is reproduced here verbatim from the original story titled "The Memory of Love, a short story" (web link: http://arindammoulick.blogspot.in/2011/07/memory-of-love-short-story.html) published here in my blog Pebbles On The Beach. "The Memory of Love, a short story" was written in the year 2011 with different character names (but same storyline) has found its way here as part of the chapter-wise presentation of my memoir "Lost Days of Glory, a Memoir". I have merely changed the character names of the original story with new names and additionally made some small changes (basically some words/sentences are put in a different way) in the overall narrative to suit the present storyline titled under “Chapter 24 – My Broken Love”. This is for the reader’s information only.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. All incidences, places, and characters portrayed in the story are fictional and entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

CHAPTER 23 - Emails of Love and Longing

Love, Loss, Loneliness and Longing, part 7

*Emails of Love and Longing

I used my newly-opened Hotmail account to send emails to my obsession Una Artoran. I used to every so often drop in a line or two to Una before going home, but later my emails to her rose to the count of at least two per day. Every day, before logging off, I wrote to Una without fail. I pounded on my keyboard and wrote lengthy emails for her to read and enjoy. After office hours I had all the time in the world and I loved writing whatever came to mind and whatever my heart had approved. (I had been a regular little literary snob just like anyone who is passionate about literature and books and warm tea/coffee). Una cast her beautiful eyes on my prolific emails and read them with much keenness – that was enough for me to know to keep writing to her. I’d afterward call her and talk to her about what I had to say about a specific thing or something she preferred. For us, our developing relationship mattered more than anything else; perhaps, with the sole exception of my emails making her day and mine alike.

Those days, I had a kind of dedicated approach towards writing and literature, books, and soirees; I still am committed, however, I feel that old spark is somehow missing. I have a passion for books and writing gives me some solace from the maddening world I live in. In my writings, I confess, every single detail is left to suggestion; I describe a lot almost to the point of overdoing it, trying too hard to please, use long-winding sentences, words that are ordinarily not used or found on the daily lexicon of a person – all of them find a berth in the much-harried pages of my stories! And as a result of that, I have suffered deep pangs of guilty-pleasure generating from my natural inclination towards writing so many words that suffer from what I call deep claustrophobia. I never think of taking into account whether or not the person I am writing to really does have the time and inclination to read, much less peruse, my laborious stuff.

Many a time and oft I used to feel sissy about the whole thing and abandon my curious, stuffy enterprise. But yet, you know, I preferred writing globe-swallowing stories no matter whether or not I stopped in my tracks and listened to a better opinion or two on how to do it the way it is meant to be done. To disengage from the vocation, I am indulging in will never be on my To-Do list. Not yet. I am not done yet! As far as writing emails to Una was concerned, I didn’t know when to stop my rambling, self-conscious prose and so I never did. I loved writing to her as much as she did reading it. Of all things that matter, writing straight from the heart was important. It is a time of plenty; blogging, tweeting, and SMS-ing are just a part of the big picture. And I am bumbling with fantastic enthusiasm and energy to write, write and write, and hopefully, get read.

[Note: Getting someone to read your stuff (or anything at all) is a monstrous challenge, almost to the size of an untamed Dinosaur! I mean you can get some people to see a T-Rex in a man-made Jurassic-era-like park, but to tell them to also read the swashbuckling Michael Crichton novel on which the film Jurassic Park is based is like committing hara-kiri...! I prefer being eaten by a Dinosaur then! Problem solved! they seem to say. In a day and age when people have no doubtless and less time available to them, they have inadvertently become more and more adept at some kind of self-effacing tactics (maybe at no fault of theirs) - preferring instead the cushy pads of cell phones and getting stuck in traffic jams, and watching TV. The universal excuse is: We scarcely get time to read a book or two. I say it is just not done.]

A lifesaver was my sweetheart Una who always got very anxious if the daily treat of my thesis-like emails didn’t reach her inbox. She never could think of giving them a miss, come hell or high water. That demonstration of love was not only inspirational but beyond doubt a sure blessing for me. So I kept up the tempo of my seriously indulgent writing as it is.

I distinctly recall once when she had attended an official luncheon at Ramada Hotel. Monami Roy and Padmashri Raoh also were invitees there.

Chaar Saheliyan, Chaar Paheliyan

All throughout the day in my office, a torrent of apprehensions kept beleaguering me even as I had wanted to hear her voice just once over the phone and my day would have been made. Back in 1998, there were no mobile phones and so immediately calling her up was beyond question. I remember, I sat displeased in my office cubicle on the 5th floor of Tesser Towers and was getting deeply anxious and edgy about her promised phone call. 

At last, post-lunch Una called on my office no. and I got talking to her. Great feelings of gratification had assailed me by from head to toe. By now I had known her intimately. Accustomed feelings of love and longing filled our pleading, embracing hearts. She teased me at first and narrated on the fabulous spread of Chinese, Indian and Mediterranean dishes: Chicken Manchuria, American Chopsuey (one of her favourites, so it automatically becomes my favourite too), Greek Salad, Butter Chicken, Chicken Tikka Masala, etc. - with the usual salvers of Dal Makhni, Tomato Rasam, and Tamarind Rice. We planned for a visit there sometime, but we never made it.

In the following week, she called me to say she’s heading off to a pub with her office co-workers. Somebody wanted to give a treat, apparently and that’s why the rush I thought. The same night when she called back to say that she’s safely back home and propped on the sofa watching the movie The Marrying Man on the cable television she sounded a little drunk on the phone, and for the first time in our relationship, the ‘three magic words’ were exchanged.

Now, let the truth be told and being straightforward is nice, anything to do with Chicken usually revs up my craving and this incidentally had had me yelping away at Una and Monami when they called me from the restaurant on my office phone, and I gurgled: “Baar aarahi hai mu main…!” (My mouth is flooded!) The Hindi slang bemused them like crazy and a fit of super-duper girly chuckling stormed my ears and in consequence of that, it led me to double-up in laughter too in my office cabin, with Savitha sitting inches away! (I couldn’t help but give a sideways glance at our very own omnivorous cicada called Savitha Tandavi, who sat cross-legged, in a ram-rod stiff position, in the chair behind me breaking her heads off on the computer, turned a beetroot red (her trademark peculiarity) in her notoriously big bat-like ears! I sensed that she was getting unstoppably scandalous and like an enthu cutlet continued snooping on my lovey-dovey telephonic conversation with Una and Monami).

Nevertheless, I felt so acutely funny of myself and wet behind the ears: you know the inexperience of a baby, so recently born as to be still wet! Duh…!

I wrote to Una about plenty of things - my bike, breakfast, English flicks, friends, books, restaurants, actors, Hindi movies, and even office people. She nostalgically talked about Himachal Pradesh - her native, her love of pastel-hued salwar kameezes, chiffon sarees, coffee breaks, office people, long-drives, and plenty other things. Once when the Patrick Swayze film Dirty Dancing was shown at Sangeet, she went to see it escorting her office buddy Padmashree Raoh, who later became my friend too. Una loved my signature style ‘byee’. I generally specified that toward the end of each email I wrote to her.

I realized that I was in the sort of first-class company of groupie girls nicknamed Chaar Saheliyan, Chaar Paheliyan! From the gang of four like-minded young ladies such as Monami Roy and Savitha Tandavi, I had befriended by virtue of my courtship with Una Artoran, Padmashri Raoh was the last one to become friends with me, Arinvan Maliek. Una introduced me to Padmashri at her birthday party which was being celebrated at a small dhaba-like jaunt located somewhere near YMCA; the venue was not far away from their office on SD Road. I remember I had gate-crashed into Una’s all-girls birthday party; I didn’t intend to but I had gifts to be given to Una and I wanted to give them on the day of her birthday, that is on 10th December, and then drive away to my office on Raj Bhavan Road. How could I miss her birthday! I wouldn’t! Two days prior, I had gone to Walden bookstore and bought two paperback novels for her: The Diary of Anne Frank (by Anne Frank) and No Greater Love (by Danielle Steel) and fervently wished that she would read them. That’s why I dashed in to gift her the presents.

A few days before, I drove with Una all the way to the south of the city to attend our alma mater’s convocation conducted at Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan. The auditorium was crammed with students, ex-students, coordinators, administrators, parents, and other folks. We went onto the stage shook hands with Dr. Sugata Mitra, a renowned Physicist, and received our convocation certificates from him.

END OF PART 7 OF ‘LOVE, LOSS, LONELINESS AND LONGING, part 7’

(To be continued...)

By Arindam Moulick

*Note: The above story Chapter 23 – Emails of Love and Longing is reproduced here verbatim from the original story titled "The Memory of Love, a short story" (web link: http://arindammoulick.blogspot.in/2011/07/memory-of-love-short-story.html) published here in my blog Pebbles On The Beach. "The Memory of Love, a short story" was written in the year 2011 with different character names (but same storyline) is finding its way here as part of the chapter-wise presentation of my memoir "Lost Days of Glory, a Memoir". I have merely changed the character names of the original story with new names and additionally made some small changes (basically some words/sentences are put in a different way) in the overall narrative to suit the present storyline titled under “Chapter 23 – Emails of Love and Longing”. This is for the reader’s information only.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. All incidences, places, and characters portrayed in the story are fictional and entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

CHAPTER 22 - Those Were the Best Days of My Life

Love, Loss, Loneliness and Longing, part 6

*Those Were the Best Days of My Life

In fact, only after almost a month and a half of dilly-dallying did Una and I meet in person. We often postponed our first meeting because we didn’t want to break the charming spell we were enjoying while talking on the phone or do away with the fine sense of ignominy which was well worth its while. Una once told me she found my voice sweet or am I trying to impress her? I had said “both” and cackled indulgently. I understand that Monami, her fast friend, supposed to have continually mused on behalf of Una as she remarked: “voice toh sweet hai, dekhne mein kaisa hoga?” I did not meet Monami until I had met Una. When Una used to call me, Monami liked to barge into our telephonic conversation and share a word or two. I got to know her first thusly.

Those days were the happy days of my life. It made me realize that Una was probably the one true reason why my life was being led to a world full of delightful anticipation and happiness. Our phone calls were so frequent and engaging that we felt like keeping our ‘on-phone’ relationship agreeably prolonged. Before making up our minds to see one another in person, we gave our relationship a little more time to mature. I guess we decided to make the best for last.

I remember oh so well watching Falguni Pathak’s chartbuster love songs on MTV: “yaad piya ki ane lagi” and “maine payal hai chankayi…” and thinking about Una all day and night. Humming Pankaj Sarawgi's beautifully picturized song: "Mujhe pyaar hai tumse..." brings back those memories again. I'll never forget this song.

"Mujhe pyaar hai tumse..
Ke jab bhi koi..
Aahat hue toh lage...
Ke tum aaye....
...
Sawala salona haye chehra yeh tera...
Aankhiyon mein basa hai yeh palko ki tarah..."

My days were literally filled with the tender fragrance of my jaanu (beloved) and her sweet voice on the phone. Life was so much worth living. Subsequently, our telephonic tête-à-têtes started to gain on a hue of assurance and desire and we settled on a date in September to meet. I grew restless and jumpy and so did she. I went home early on the day when our rendezvous was set up at Aditya Coffee Shop. In fact, after I have had my share of toiling in office, I was almost a spent-force to be game for a date with whom I had regarded as ‘someone special’. I was obviously impressed with her because my apprehensions got the better of me and I felt freshly energized to meet her. The joy of meeting a person whom you’ve never met before is something to be experienced to be believed. I had different varieties of ticklish butterflies in my stomach fluttering about. Time just flies by on such an occasion of delectable expectations. Small fears and trepidation in the form of what will happen if…? what will she…? will she…? is it ok to…? are enough to make you go dizzy with wonder. And furthermore, one finds oneself spending copious amounts of time on one’s toiletries and dressing than otherwise would have done in other ‘normal’ circumstances. That was our first ‘blind date’ and I wanted to make it count for both of us.

This is how I made it count: I finished my harrowing scheduled shift at 3 o’clock and headed straight home to give myself some shringaar. I knew the day will come when I would meet her. I had bought an assortment of personal care products. First on my list was Denim perfume (my favourite, but they don’t make that perfume anymore) and I reckoned that it’s perfectly okay to indulge a little now that I’m going on a date – an important event of my life no less. I ensured that my new well-tailored shirt (maroon checks, bought at Cheap Jack on MG Road) was ironed well and had just the right creases for the sophistication I had intended to ooze! (I still have that old shirt and I wear it sometimes to the office; strong nostalgic value you see.) I had a slow dream-like shave and dappled my cheeks with Denim after-shave lotion and felt fresh and manly. When I was tip-top ready, I rode all the way to the venue humming “aye kaash ke hum hosh mein ab aane na paye…” a delightful song from the Hindi movie Kabhie Han, Kabhie Na.

I drove at a speed of 50-55kph (nothing great about the speed, I know!), reached early, parked my bike, combed my hair, and took my position! I sat on a sit-out parapet railing and looked down the road I thought she would come riding astride her bike. For over three quarters an hour I held up my vigil like a newly-bred Majnu, and when Her Highness was still not turning up I decided to call her from a nearby telephone booth across the road. She got my call after the first ring and when I said “Hello” she knew from my voice I was on the line.

“Hi…? Arin…? Give me just 10 minutes na please and I’ll be there”, said she.
I said laughing, “Sure. Come soon Mademoiselle. Um waiting… see ya byee!”

At last, come she did and the melody I was humming “kab se kare hain tera intezar, kab ayegi meri jaane bahaar…” froze, as if set automatically on a pause button. One glance at her…whoa! I knew she was the one, my ‘special someone’ with whom I had shared almost every little detail of my life on our endless telephonic conversations is right there. By all accounts a blind date it was, with someone, I already knew telephonically but never had up till now seen her face. So now I know who I was talking to all during the enchanting season of August and September months of our eager courtship. Una wore a pastel-hued virgin pink (her most loved shade) salwaar and I instantly noticed that she had an exquisite stance about her which was really so attention-grabbing. She was riding a Kinetic Honda. The spike holding the right-hand side mirror was wrapped with a red perforated holy scarf (laced with shiny golden border laces); apparently, it was tugged there as a reminder for her to drive safely. A nice thing to do really. She was an incredibly pretty lady, just like her name suggests. I was stunned into thinking that she looked no less than a pariyon ki rani (Angel Princess!); certainly not of this mortal world. Evidently, Una Artoran has a strong closeness in appearance to an actress by the name Preeti Jhangiani, and it never goes unnoticed even at the first glimpse.

Now, people should have laughed watching me doing what I could, yeah, to the best of my knowledge, trying to put up some sort of a brave front to meet her.

I descended down the short marble-tiled steps (for a moment I thought I would trip and fall on the pavement and break my front teeth! but I didn’t) and stood confidently in the parking lot in front of the Aditya coffee shop. A ready glee frolicked on my face and an almost absent will-power to meet ‘a girl’ had muddled my mind into self-consciousness and hesitance. I don’t know how but I just about managed to be up and about. I didn’t know how I could muster up that kind of insouciant confidence to go on a blind date. But I did it, you know. Basically, I was content about the fact that Una turned out to be what I had imagined her to be. She looked up tossing her coy tresses tending them back in place; she clutched her bag and dashed a meaningful glance at me smiling warmly, and then our evening rendezvous was well set to roll.

After we got a corner table, I ordered a couple of coffees with house-special cupcakes. Our conversation took off on a free note which really surprised us at first. I mean, normally, meeting someone whom you haven’t seen or met before - except of course one might have talked endlessly with the same person over the phone day in and day out - how is one supposed to react or interact without getting self-conscious or nervous? I didn’t know, didn’t have even an inkling, neither did she I believe. Interestingly, what I did sense in Una’s cool appearance is her easy-going, well-honed confident persona; her subtle countenances were at once very pleasing to behold, sharpened by her black kohl-lined eyes. Not only was I bowled clean but also it made me feel uncomfortably conscious of my humble self.

Thankfully, however, it came as a big relief to me when she coolly began talking without much ado or gumption as she sat across me with a smile on her lips that I wager was like to that of Angels I had read in the books or saw in the movies. What had actually assailed me up to the brim of my soul is the fragrance of her floral beauty. She was a woman of substance. I marvelled at her art of conversation which struck me as profoundly intriguing. Her conversational subjects, between her laughter, knew no limits. She indulged in it copiously. One naturally anticipates a finance graduate to somehow come round talking about “finance” not trying to see whether the person before you like it or abhors it, but luckily she was far removed from such leniency.

Her compelling allure of beauty combined with her intricate artwork of a smile frolicking all over her lipstick-lined slim lips and her face illuminating the whole corner of the room – all this had kept me possessively enchanted throughout the course of that thoroughly dreamy evening I had spent with her at the coffee shop.

Ever since our first blind date going all-good, we always met over coffee at Aditya Coffee Shop, an exclusive underground coffee shop meant for lovers or soon-to-be-lovers, and had exchanged quite a few pleasantries. Time and again she found me marveling at her kohl-lined eyes! Una’s elegant black eyes were naturally a good conversation-starter for me. I gaped in wonder at those luminous black eyes and have written copious poetic verses in my mind and sang romantic songs in my heart – just for her. (I dabbled in poetry in those days and my muse was right in front of me!) Let God be in heaven; she was a great looker.

The reason, apparently, why she thought of gifting me a Parker is that she sensed what better gift but a pen for a scorching pen-pusher cum first-time (first-time?) lover like me!

In fact, prior to our first meeting, we had been exchanging emails profusely and chatting away on the phone as if mesmerized to the point of no return! No amount of office work could make me abstain from writing her long emails and likewise, no amount of office work could prevent her from perusing my emails. I loved writing to her every single day before I had logged off my computer and called it a day. She would call me back the next day and talk about the things I wrote to her and her plans to meet me at 'our' coffee place we frequented. Una once told me that my writings (emails) are so “detailed”. I very well remember writing about the movie I liked very much watching at a theatre; it was Dr. DoLittle. Writing about the story of the film gave me such joy that for the simple love of sharing it with Una I ended up writing a long email of several bytes in length which ultimately reached her erratic office email box in two or three fractured installments! There was another movie by the name of Patch Adams (one of my most loved movies) that had greatly moved me. A couple of days later when I wrote about Patch Adams she replied back saying that it was like seeing the movie itself on account of my florid portrayals of it in my email to her! Carrying me on the wings of her appeasing compliment, I had soared high to the heavens and back!

Sweet girl; she liked to agree/concur with everything I said or opinionated on in my email messages to her, and I adored her - almost obsessively and self-centredly - for everything she was as a person, and what she used to talk about while sipping coffee. Our ‘feelings’ for each other were gradually deepening. I admit I never knew how to hold an approving girl's hand or look in the eyes and say the three magic words. But all that changed instantly, as though by some magic! Cuddling her hands in mine for a long while - sometimes almost to the point of breaking a sweat - till the closing hours of the coffee shop, was my way of obsessing about my perfect meetings with her. Coming home every day with an ‘expression’ dancing upon my face and keeping awake till the small hours of the morning thereafter was my daily routine. I had no way of knowing if anybody used to notice (except Savitha Tandavi) when I danced to Una’s love - I was pretty curious to know. Nobody knew of my affair with Una. Manpreet knew only a superficial little. Of course, Savitha knew it and vowed to destroy it. The ‘expression’ on my face said it all, “Oui ma...I am in love…so totally in love... yea yeaa yeaaa!”

I, Arinvan Maliek, do hereby affirm that I have totally fallen in love, deeply, with a manchali Himachali, Una Artoran. 

Pompous Roy

Once Monami ‘Fishsketcher’ Roy had joined me and Una at Aditya Coffee Shop and talked about wanting to see the film Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. They had been planning to make it to Manju Theatre, and one fine day they went and saw the mushy film. It was the festival month of October when the film was released and Navratri and Dussehra were not far behind. I was already busy shopping for clothes. Finally, I went to see it with one of my university amigos Praveen Kumar at the same Manju Theatre. By then Una and Monami had already seen the film there. I liked the film so very much that it led me to think of Rani as Una! No comparison there because Una was slim and the fine actress was considerably roly-poly. At one point during the interval, swinging his share of a plastic bag of chips and a bottle of Thums Up, Praveen Kumar urged me not to criticize Hindi flicks like this one, especially the one with Rani Mukherjee in it, and I ought to take it easy because he likes her. Well, then the case is closed!

Oh well, I wasn’t overly critical of the film; I simply opinionated that I did like Rani Mukherjee’s serene beauty (Praveen didn’t know that my doe-eyed kohl-lined sweetheart Una was high on my mind then while his mind was jammed packed with Rani Mukherjee!) in the song

“Tum pass aye yun muskuraye

Tumne na jaane kya sapne dikhaye

Ab to mera dil jaage na sota hai

Kya karun haaye kuch kuch hota hai”

The song

“Ladki badi anjani hai

Sapna hai sach hai kahaani hai

Dekho ye pagli bilkul na badli

Ye to vohi deewani hai
Ho ho ho ho...”

picturized on ugly-pugly Kajol and Shah Rukh was another chartbuster song that had us hooked. Lo and behold! He now warns me not to pass judgment on Rani. I wasn’t actually, in fact, I liked her a lot and her acting is brilliant. Yeah…yeah… you got it right, his heart went aflutter on his sweet Rani and so I have no business in her whatsoever! Even as harmless as appreciating Rani was objectionable to him! Kya zamana ah gaya hai, bhai! (What has the world come to, oh brother!).

In fact, on account of Monami’s standard break-ins during my lovey-dovey phone calls to Una, she got to know that my favourite curry is Fish curry, and the more jhaal jhaal (spicy spicy!) it is the better. So she sketched a big torpedo-shaped fish (with prominently drawn fish scales, pectoral fins, pelvic fins and all – probably macher raja (King of Fish), a Rohu variety! on a wonderful paper-cutting shaped like a big fleshy scrumptious fish and offered it to me. (Ah! Hah! I didn’t have to cast a line or hook a worm to catch it! I told my Ma to cook it but she laughed!).

The free-hand sketch was so endearingly good to look at, as though of a lovely presentation from a friend to another friend. Una appreciated Monami and her delicate paper Fish sketch profusely. I was so damn pleased with Monami’s gift (of Fishy Poetic Business, my term) sitting on my lap that it made me agape in deep certitude. That evening Una kept smiling her million-dollar smile even as Monami got to her evening best in the coffee shop with such jovial aplomb that as if all the Lilies and Roses and Lotuses of the natural world were dilly-dallying on her lively round face.

END OF PART 6 OF ‘LOVE, LOSS, LONELINESS AND LONGING, part 6’

(To be continued...)

By Arindam Moulick

*Note: The above story Chapter 22 – Those Were the Best Days of My Life is reproduced here verbatim from the original story titled "The Memory of Love, a short story" (web link: http://arindammoulick.blogspot.in/2011/07/memory-of-love-short-story.html) published here in my blog Pebbles On The Beach. "The Memory of Love, a short story" was written in the year 2011 with different character names (but same storyline) has found its way here as part of the chapter-wise presentation of my memoir "Lost Days of Glory, a Memoir". I have merely changed the character names of the original story with new names and additionally made some small changes (basically some words/sentences are put in a different way) in the overall narrative to suit the present storyline under the new title “Chapter 22 – Those Were the Best Days of My Life”. This is for the reader’s information only.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. All incidences, places, and characters portrayed in the story are fictional and entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

Android One, the New Superstar!

Have you heard about the revolutionary ‘Android One’ Smartphone? Sounds terrific, isn’t it? These Smartphones are said to be genuinely budget-friendly and that’s a clincher if you ask me! Because it is launched in India via three top-selling mobile phone manufacturers and comes with a tagline of low-cost affordability, the latest Android One phones from Google are bound to go places. Your favorite apps, free data, plus all the latest mid-range features are included in the new Android One version.

Statistics show that for first-time phone buyers, the demand for such phones is skyrocketing and that’s why Google chose India, a third-largest smartphone market, to launch such low-priced “high-quality” phones. No doubt, first-time smartphone customers are looking forward to it as they want to make a changeover from using their low-tech devices to using more sophisticated yet affordable devices.

The Power of Android One!

I see a mobile revolution is just around the corner with Android One’s launch here in India. Especially, first-time buyers have by now been hooked on to the newest offering ever since it was announced that Google is all set for a grand launch of its newest Android version beginning in India and later on in other emerging marketplaces. That was an exciting bit of news, to say the least, considering what probable Android users are expecting from a technology standpoint. Let’s just take a look at what kind of “high-quality” features, as are being promised by Google, are in store for Android One phone buyers.

Okay, before we go in there allow me to quickly treat you to the fact that one of the interesting features on offer is: users can download YouTube video clips and watch them offline. Now that’s an Android One feature that is still unavailable on any other Android operating system device! Isn’t that an excellent service rendition for Android One buyers? It sure is. First-time buyers out there are looking forward to such a treat that will go on to add fantastic value-addition to their happiness quotient on acquiring an Android One cell phone.

Features, Features, Features! Here are they: A minimum 4.5-inch phone display, 1GB RAM, 4GB storage space with micro SD card slot, a quad-core processor, a 5-megapixel rear camera, and 2 MP front one, including dual SIM card support, built-in FM radio, and replaceable battery. Besides all of that, users can download 200MB worth of apps from Google Play.

In the meantime, Google-made Android One smartphone devices are going to be competitively advantageous when compared to the global biggie of a South Korean firm Samsung as far as low-pricing strategy is concerned. It’s going to be a wait-and-watch thing on how Android One is going to trigger an impact on pricing mechanisms and product mix from even low-cost no-frills Chinese phone manufacturers.

And in the years to come, it is going to be far more exciting than perhaps what is perceivable now. Right now though, one is convinced that with the newest Google Android One technology addition available it’s time for an upgraded handset!

By Arindam Moulick

CHAPTER 21 - 1998: A Personal History

Love, Loss, Loneliness and Longing, part 5

* The Memory of love

For the entire period of my association with Satyam as an employee, I had never - not even for a day - missed sticking my pen into the top front pocket of my shirt. My romantic crush Una had gifted me a pen - a silver Parker - and since then it became a much-loved, well-cared-for badge of love that I had, admittedly, loved to show off to my office associates, especially to Savitha Tandavi, Una’s close buddy-pal from college days, who blew a gasket and never recuperated from her inward fuming when she found out that Una had gifted me a pen!

Una Artoran, like her other friends Monami Roy and Padmashri Raoh, had worked for a financial company dealing with credits, foreign exchange, accounts and sales, and the lot. Her job required her to keep browsing loads of forex and securities files daily; deal with money coming in and going out; files of individual account holders and small and medium enterprises (SMEs) and the whole nine yards. Just the kind of job I would emphatically avoid! Just kidding!

1998: A Personal History

My name is Arinvan… Arinvan Maliek and my courtship with Una literally began on the telephone. The romantic year of 1998 bears testimony to that fact. Una used to call our office to speak with Savitha Tandavi, who was one of her mutual friends (snooty at best), on the direct line.

Savitha joined Satyam at Tesser Towers along with me and Manpreet 'Heartlove' Singh. I, Manpreet, and Savitha shared an enlarged open-to-one-side cabin with three computers inside it - two at the front and one at the back. Most often, whenever someone called on the phone, Manpreet’s hands always rose first to get it. His quick reflexes were seen to be believed! If his ‘Hello’ is quickly boomed into the phone it only meant the conversation from the other side of the line better be clear and to the point! Everybody knew Manpreet’s hard-boiled booming yowl, compared to my yell or Savitha’s foxy howl, his yowl was the best yowl. On occasions when he passed on the phone to me smiling his trademark cheesy smile it only implied that Una Artoran, my chui-mui (shy princess) girl, was on the line for me. Manpreet, a blue-blooded sophisticate that he is, would never eavesdrop on our coochie-cooing, nope! And this way began one of the loveliest chapters written on the storybook of my life.

Ms. Tandavi was also believed to be friends with fish sketching artist Monami ‘Fishsketcher’ Roy, who worked with Una at her financial securities company situated on SD Road. Both Monami and Una, apart from Savitha, were thick-as-thieves, always together, conjoined colleagues; only Savitha (with her self-centered American dreams) remained as a detached feather of the same flock. Savitha, I presume, couldn’t possibly dare to handle a ‘Finance’ job and so scampered off to join a desi IT organization instead. To me, this very fact was no less than a God’s blessing (actually Savitha’s accidental irony!) as it made it possible for me to know Una in the first place. But, thankfully, it stops there.

Strangely, my office colleague Savitha, a tall and ghostly predator, flinched outright at the idea of Una and me getting romantically involved, and this was completely unlike her chubbier and far more cheerful friend Monami who was absolutely cool about it. To me, Monami came across as a frank, candid, and amazingly fun-loving human being. Her sense of self-esteem was pretty impressive to get appreciative of, but she was highly pompous in her everyday life! That personal characteristic of Pom's - if you wear your thinking cap on and give it a second longer to think about it - will at first come across to be as crass, but, in course of time, you will get appreciative about her sonorous pompousness!

She had an exuberant beehive of a soul in her that basically throbbed with fun and vivacious cleverness; she’s delightfully pompous, solipsistic, socially gregarious, well-cushioned in appearance, forcefully animated, follows what her conscience says, and a little too chirpy in nature. At other times, Monami seemed like a plus-size Mother Superior who took it all on herself to toss in bits of good-humoured “advice” (amiable exhortation) at our way - never mind whether they were really required or not! Her voice had a tonal groan that carries into your ears an echoing, squirming intensity that can easily make you feel as if someone is orating away in all glory at Delhi’s Ramlila Grounds. Such was this original Delhi/Jamshedpur belle’s prodigious reputation. Without a doubt, such select cognoscenti go on to become genuine companions, inverse to what Savitha had been to anyone ever.

When Savitha happened to know the previous day that Una and I are meeting up at a coffee shop, she turned a beetroot red in her face and at once reprised her over the phone with her ill-bred caution. She chided Una: “Kya karr rahi hai Una tu...!”, only to be met with a burst of bemused laughter from the other end. For once, Una didn’t take Savitha’s uncivil remarks seriously. I never knew Savitha being so wary of my friendship with Una until her undercover phone call that ominous evening when I came in to relieve her from her morning stretch ending at 3pm. She had made it all so rudely obvious for me to figure. It seemed that Savitha had an acute attitudinal malfunction that was most akin to the sly characteristics of a well-known, modern-day Lalita Pawar.

Ever since that day, I couldn’t help but think of her as a wretched human being. I distanced myself from her – just on the off chance, it pricks me to a needless confrontation with her, which I wanted to avoid by all means (in light of the fact she wasn’t worth to be dealing with in the first place). Her Lalita Pawareque droopy left eyelid, which flutters ominously at you, surely is indicative of a mentality typically Machiavellian in nature. If one ruminates further on her aforementioned personality characteristics one would obviously find that she is an undisputed drama-queen of chugalkhori (sycophancy). Not having anything to do with questions of morality even when sometimes finding herself in judgmental positions (with her pal Una) is crushingly depressing of her as a person. One finds her a crafty old slithering eel, and bitterly distasteful is her cunning appetite for indulging in unabashed sycophancy.

Why was she hell-bent on a misunderstanding/misjudging me on some headless account or the other? Why was it so inordinately necessary for her to be so fiercely 'vampish' about my affair with her buddy Una? Is it in her nature to live her life the way she lived – in accordance with her kind of social class and background she happens to represent? Is it the disheveled kind of upbringing that kicked in? I never have got around to answering these ugly questions in my limited feel of things. At first, it was not quite apparent why she was being vainly jealous of me - she gradually was beginning to come across as a little cantankerous individual - but what I figured is that it triggered a vapid botheration in me with regard to her crude conduct.

Afterward, when I was still none the wiser as to what her “issues” were with me, I dropped it like hot coals and drew comfort from the age-old premonition that: Time will take its own course. Foxy Savithas of the world do not bring the luxury of friendly encouragement nor do they appreciate the thought of love and its reassuring finality in Providence. They simply have villainous appetites for sycophancy - may be a genetic defect, a hereditary deformity, carried on from millions of years of female evolution - that makes one cringe in revulsion. To think of such people as mind-numbing pain and a big turn-off definitely rings true. I got wizened a bit and conclusively realized that it’s none of my business to put it all out with this tall and snaky colleague of mine, when, on that ominous evening, she was, in her own touchy-feely way, striving hard to forbid Una to have anything to do with me forthwith. But that day, it could have been a day of frank pejorative outburst in full discourse for her to see had she wanted to get candid with me then and there.

END OF PART 5 OF ‘LOVE, LOSS, LONELINESS AND LONGING, part 5’

(To be continued...)

By Arindam Moulick

*Note: The above story Chapter 21 – 1998: A Personal History is reproduced here verbatim from the original story titled "The Memory of Love, a short story" (web link: http://arindammoulick.blogspot.in/2011/07/memory-of-love-short-story.html) published here in my blog Pebbles On The Beach. "The Memory of Love, a short story" was written in the year 2011 with different character names (but same storyline) has found its way here as part of the chapter-wise presentation of my memoir "Lost Days of Glory, a Memoir". I have merely changed the character names of the original story with new names and additionally made some small changes (basically some words/sentences are put in a different way) in the overall narrative to suit the present storyline under the new title “Chapter 21 – 1998: A Personal History”. This is for the reader’s information only.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. All incidences, places, and characters portrayed in the story are fictional and entirely imaginary. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.